


Tell Me How To Crawl Out Of Love

by rycewritestrash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Polyamory, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2020-10-19 12:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rycewritestrash/pseuds/rycewritestrash
Summary: There’s a part of Clarke that wishes Bellamy never kissed her. Maybe then this wouldn’t be so hard, watching him slowly fall in love with his soulmate when he loved her first.Title from Illenium'sCrawl Out Of Lovefeat. Annika Wells.





	1. Look At Us Now

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are a lot of people out there who dislike Echo, and I get it. But this is the glory of fanfic, so let's pretend shall we? However, if you can't get passed your annoyance for her, this story is probably not for you.
> 
> *
> 
> TW // mentions of abuse allegations //
> 
> [I believe Arryn](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fe60hsPjRSStKOfx2R4Z204KUdxEbl-5RrCpvg4IKKU/edit?usp=sharing).
> 
> & for those that are uncomfortable imagining B & E while reading Bellamy/Clarke fanfiction, please feel free to reference another actor/actress, or reimagine them however you'd like.

There’s a part of Clarke that wishes Bellamy never kissed her.  Maybe then it wouldn't be so hard watching him  slowly fall in love with his soulmate when he loved  _her_ first.

She can still feel the press of his lips on the night he showed up to her apartment a complete mess. His clothes rumpled and hair that looked like it hadn't even  been washed yet.  His movements were frantic against her and as much as she was enjoying it, this wasn’t something they’d ever done before . They never even spoke of it. If she knew that her first kiss with him would be her last,  maybe she would’ve held on a little longer.

The damage was already done. She’ll never be able to get the taste of him out of her mouth. 

It wasn’t until Bellamy started apologizing into the crook of her neck that she realized something was very,  _very_ wrong .

"Echo." A name that immediately burns her skin with his breath on her neck. She's the girl he’d taken home from the bar the night before.  Clarke hadn’t let it bother her then, because it wasn’t unusual for either of them to have one-night stands, except this one was different . 

Everyone has a soul mark, only to  be seen by one's soulmate. 

Clarke wore long sleeves to hide hers.  She swore off soulmates after her mother left her father for the department head of Arkadia hospital . And Abby only discovered that Marcus Kane was her soulmate after fucking him in her dad’s office. 

Clarke was the one that caught them. 

Jake Griffin committed suicide less than a month later. 

She’s never been able to stop blaming her mom for it.

Abby and Kane may be soulmates, but they would never have known that had they not taken the time to rip each other’s clothes off .

Her mom tried to explain that it was the  _pull_ that drew her to him like she knew who he was before what followed after-- _she _ _just knew._

Clarke got so close to believing that with Bellamy.  The pesky thought of ripping her shirt off and bearing her mark to him, sounding less and less  remarkably stupid in her head .

But then the rug  was yanked out from under her feet, by fate itself.

Bellamy loved her, told her,  _begged_ her to believe him.  He said that he never wanted it to be anyone else and that’d he’d been less careful with hiding it around other people because he’d been so sure it was  her . But he didn’t want to push her into anything Clarke wasn’t ready for. So he was patient, waiting for her to be ready for her to stop hiding.

Absentmindedly , Clarke strokes her inner bicep through the fabric of her plaid shirt. A gold crown surrounded by sunflowers.

“Princess.” She jumps at the familiar baritone of his voice. His lips twist, rocking back on the heels of his feet. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.

Her heart clenches at that. “It’s your birthday, Bellamy, of course, I came.”

His eyelids do that eye fluttering thing that he does whenever she says something that leaves him in awe. Now she wonders if that look  is laced with something else, an adoration she didn’t notice before it was too late. 

_It’s better this way._

_You wouldn’t want to end up like your dad, would you?_

She bats her eyelashes to keep the tears from falling, before Bellamy notices.

_Fat chance that was._

“Clarke,” he says, broken, stepping closer to her.  She glances around the bar for an excuse to leave, spots Echo eyeing them  carefully in the corner, captivating her attention for a moment . She’s beautiful.

_Of course, she is._

“You should get back to your girlfriend before she misses you,” she forces herself to say. “I  just wanted to drop this off.”

A card.

His fingers hesitate over the large envelope.

“Stay.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “You know why I can’t.”

His brow furrows, lowering his open arms.

She chances another look at him. His mouth opens and closes, struggling to find the words to keep her here. 

There’s nothing.

But Clarke is  _weak_ . So, she waits.

“Echo and I--” he begins  cautiously , peeking down at her from beneath his curls as if to make sure she’s not geared up to run away. “We’re not, like,  _official_ or anything.”

She blinks. “You will be.”

“Clarke, I’m still in lo--”

“Do you feel drawn to her?”

He squints at her.

“Right now,” she continues. “She’s across the room, not even looking at you, but I bet you can feel her, can’t you? That magnetic force pulling you back to her.”

He huffs out a breath, takes a step closer to her, and Clarke wishes she was strong enough to stop him.

“You want to know what a feel? Torn, all the time  constantly , because you're not beside me.”

She smiles  sadly . “You wouldn’t feel that way if you stopped fighting it, Bell. You’re  being ripped in half because you keep trying to come back to me when the universe wants you with her.”

“That’s not--”

She cuts him off,  swiftly leans up on her tiptoes, wraps her arms around his neck, and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. She fights off the desire to search for Echo over his shoulder.

“One day, when we’ve both moved on, things can go back to the way they were, okay?” she whispers  desperately . “As friends.”

Her lips are still tingling hours later, whether it's from the warmth of his skin or the lie on her tongue, she can’t be sure.

*

She only gets a two-day reprieve before bumping, quite  literally , into Echo at Grounder’s Coffee .

Fate, it seems, doesn’t want to leave Clarke the fuck alone.

She curses, struggling with her purse and iced caramel latte. A wicked voice tempts her to pour the rest out on Echo’s stupid pretty head.

“I’m so sor--” Echo starts to say and then does a double-take. “ _Clarke_ _?_”

If it weren’t for Echo’s scalding hot cappuccino, seeping through her button-up shirt, she definitely would have been scowling less,  maybe .

But did she  really have to steal her favorite coffee joint too?

“Hi,” she grumbles, trying for a smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. Echo doesn’t offer much better as far as facial expressions go. She is  frighteningly stoic.  Clarke attempts to shrug out of her overshirt and ends up looking like a baby bird flapping its wings for the first time . 

Echo’s lips twitch and Clarke glares at her, daring her to laugh.

She rolls her eyes instead. “Here, let me help you.” 

Clarke  begrudgingly lets her relieve her of her drink and purse.

And then she’s left in quite a revealing tank top and tight jeans that would have never been noticeable under the baggy plaid shirt .

She can’t help but feel a little smug at the way Echo’s eyes widen  slightly and flick over her body, pausing on her upper half.

She might be Bellamy’s soulmate, but she  clearly has no qualms checking out his best friend.

Her heart stops.

Can she even call him that anymore?

Will they ever be able to go back to the way things were? Or was their friendship so solid because of the unresolved tension between them?

Echo breaks her out of her momentary crisis, despite seeming to be in a bit of one herself, peering down at Clarke like she may have grown a second head . “Allow me,” she says, reaching over to take her soaked shirt off her hands before Clarke can protest.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she stutters out. “I was actually  just leav--”

“I live not even a block away.  You’ll come home with me, and we’ll clean you up there,” Echo states,  hastily shoving her out the door and leaving no room for discussion . 

Clarke  nearly has to jog a bit to keep up with her long strides, as Echo refuses to let go of her bicep, her soul mark tingling under Echo's nimble fingers .

The world has been so unfair to her,  honestly .

“I don’t know if this is  entirely necessary,” Clarke says, sour.

Echo huffs, nose in the air. “I can’t  just leave you like this, Clarke. Bellamy would wring my neck.”

She startles at that, looking over at her  sharply . “That seems a tad overdramatic.”

Her lips do that twitchy thing again and Clarke's eyes drop to her mouth.

“ Perhaps ,” she allows. “But I do insist. And besides, I have ulterior motives.” 

Clarke coughs  abruptly and Echo raises a pointed brow in her direction.

“I want to get to know the famous,  princess ,” she says as if it should be obvious.

What.

_What?_

Clarke’s face warms at an alarming rate. It’s been a while since she let so much skin go uncovered, and now it’s like Echo has stripped her completely bare. “He told you about me?” she mumbles. 

That somehow manages to make Echo laugh, and of course, her laugh has to be  _pretty_ too.

She sighs at Clarke’s flabbergasted expression. “Oh, come on. You must know how much Bellamy adores you, right? He can’t keep your name out of his mouth more than two hours at a time.”

Clarke doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she settles on, “ Really ?” and Echo shoots her a look, exasperated and amused. 

“You’re kind of clueless, aren’t you?”

“Excuse--”

“We’re here.”  Echo interrupts, skipping every other step to the small set of stairs leading up to her apartment building . 

Clarke is seething by the time Echo’s facing her again, holding the door open.

There’s a glint in her eye Clarke can’t decipher as her lips curl up into a devilish smirk.

“After you, _princess_.”


	2. Standing In The Sunlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm sorry for taking this long, but YOU CAN NOT RUSH PERFECTION.
> 
> And also my therapist has me trying this new thing where I stop feeling guilty for things I shouldn't have to feel guilty for. A concept.
> 
> Enjoy, loves.

Echo’s apartment is so tidy and clean and god damn _symmetrical _and just--everything Clarke Griffin is not. Bellamy always teased the way Clarke would leave her clothes wherever they came off, leaving a trail of tattered jeans and paint-splattered shirts decorating her living room. Despite her protests, he’d always clean up after her even as a guest. She once thought of his actions fondly, as a part of an innate desire to take care of people (her especially). But now, in examining Echo’s private space, she wonders if this is exactly what Bellamy needs, someone he won’t have to constantly look after. Maybe Clarke was more nuisance to him than she realized, an inconcealable stain on any future they could have had together as lovers. 

The realization breaks her heart a little bit more, along with the worn copy of _ The Iliad _displayed on the coffee table. Clarke immediately recognizes it as Bellamy’s, because _of course, _ he’s possessive enough to vandalize the cover with his initials in the top right corner. The only thing even marginally out of place, even amongst what most would consider _clutter_. And yet, each object seems to have its own designated location, following suit with the television remotes all facing the same direction, positioned from longest to shortest.

Clarke is fairly confident she’s been handling things rather maturely up to this point, but even she is not above certain pettiness. 

_ This _is what encourages her to kick the remotes on the floor and plop down on Echo’s spotless cream-colored sofa, squishing one of the five ( _ five?! _) decorative pillows with the intention of leaving a distinct imprint of her ass. 

Her seat is entirely uncomfortable and equally satisfying.

Clarke’s not much of a rebel either, to be honest.

A throat clears, startling Clarke out of her short-lived delight. “Oh, hi--er--hello!” she says with a wave of her hand, forcefully brightening her voice with the intent of sounding perfectly sane, normal--_ chipper_. Yes, that, all three, in fact.

It has the opposite effect.

Echo arches a brow with precise precision, an ability that Clarke is also blessed with achieving.

_ How infuriating. _

“Didn’t we already do this bit? Awkward hellos and all?” Echo asks, gesturing between the two of them.

Clarke swallows down the nervous laughter on the verge of bubbling out of her mouth to not sound any more hysterical than she’s already, most definitely, made herself seem.

In lieu of Clarke’s silence, echo lets out an exasperated sigh. “Nevermind,” she decides, looking down at her phone to finish whatever she was typing.

Clarke can’t help but wonder if she is texting Bellamy, if he knows she’s here will he call her--or Echo? Perhaps he would even dare to show up unannounced and corner them both into having some impromptu gathering of sorts, similar to what Echo had already done to Clarke.

Her stomach tightens with dread.

Echo, seemingly unaware of Clarke’s internal crisis and impending anxiety attack, sinks down on the cushion beside Clarke, much closer than strictly necessary. The proximity between them is not nearly as unpleasant as it should be, which is _unbearable _given the circumstances.

The scent of lavender and laundry detergent overcomes any sense of pride and Clarke, _ being Clarke_, predictable puts her foot so far in her mouth she chokes on it. 

“You smell nice,” she says and then immediately regrets it.

The brunette looks up from her phone and sets her sights on Clarke in such a way that she feels like prey, frozen in place with only a few seconds left before she gets eaten. 

Her survival instincts _suck_. 

Echo studies her, slowly baring her teeth in one of few smiles Clarke has ever witnessed grace her features, each one more alarming than the next.

“Thanks for noticing, _ princess _ .” The nickname rolls off her tongue like a purr in such a way that she should _not _send a shiver down Clarke’s spine.

It does, of course. And judging from the way Echo seems to mentally take note of Clarke’s clench thighs, dragging her eyes down Clarke’s body and back up again, she’s noticed her reaction.

There are too many things wrong with this scenario for Clarke to list off in her head.

“My shirt?” Clarke asks, diverting Echo’s attention in the least subtle way possible.

Echo, gracefully, lets it pass. _ Thank the Gods _\--all three-thousand of them.

“In the wash,” she replies smoothly. And then, “Whatever shall we do in the meantime, princess? Not exchange any more pleasantries, I hope. I don’t think your face could take much more blood rushing to your cheeks.”

Clarke promptly chokes on nothing.

“Oh, look,” Echo continues, amusement coloring her tone. “I was wrong. Such a rarity.”

Clarke shoots her best irritable glare at Echo as if to convey her flushed face is merely a result of pure loathing and not--whatever it is that Echo is implying it is.

Clarke refuses to entertain the idea.

She is _ not _ attracted to Bellamy Blake’s soulmate.

“You’re the mastermind,” Clarke says, petulant, ignoring Echo’s late comments to address her original question. “I assumed dragging me here was all a part of some carefully orchestrated plot to get me alone.”

“Yes,” Echo deadpans. “I have been waiting for the opportune moment to smother with airways with chloroform and harvest your organs.”

They are surprisingly good at this, bantering, that is. It reminds Clarke of the first time she and Bellamy found any sort of common ground to build their friendship on--minus the absolute terrible circumstances.

Clarke doesn’t want to _like _Echo, not while she’s still trying to put the pieces of her heart back together. She needs more time. That’s why she’s been keeping her distance.

It can’t be this _easy _to be okay with Bellamy falling in love with someone new, simply because that someone is Echo.

“Just as I expected then,” Clarke says, trying and failing to keep a straight-face.

“We could just address the elephant in the room,” Echo suggests rather innocently. 

_ Suspiciously_, more like it.

Clarke squirms a bit and breathes in and out an inadvisable amount of air through her nose, which is usually the beginning signs of hyperventilation.

“I--don’t know--what you could possibly--”

Echo sighs loudly as if to convey that she finds Clarke particularly exhausting.

_ Which, same, honestly. _

Clarke imagines it’s much less mental work being someone else that is not her. Someone like--

“Obviously, I am referring to the fact that you are in love with my soulmate,” she says, flatly.

Clarke let out a series of unintelligible noises.

“Jesus,” Echo admonishes with a laugh. “You’re just as bad at this as he is, worse, even.”

Clarke clears her throat, gathers her bearings and wets her lips. She’s only vaguely aware of Echo’s eyes tracking the movement of her tongue, filing the observation away for later.

“Yes,” Clarke manages, rather high-pitched, a voice she hardly recognizes as her own. “I’m very sorry I didn’t mentally prepare to discuss my pathetic unrequited love life with the soulmate of said unrequited love.”

Echo’s face softens into something that unnerves Clarke in such a way that it unsettles her stomach with a bubbly feeling of unwanted excitement. If she didn’t know any better (which, at this point, _ does she actually? _) she’d venture that Echo is gazing at her with something akin to fondness. It is a look that Clarke is all too familiar with from all those late nights with Bellamy.

“Echo--” Clarke starts.

“It’s all right, princess,” Echo murmurs, sliding closer, until he outside of their thighs press together and Clarke has to remind herself to exhale. “I dare to say that fate may still have a few tricks up her sleeve, yet,” she says, fingers trailing Clarke's bare arm, stopping to caress the soulmark that Echo couldn’t _possibly _know is there.

Just as she is about to ask what Echo means, her lips press against her own.

Clarke freezes, for a time much shorter than she’s proud to admit. But Echo is _soft _in a way she hadn’t expected, warm and inviting in ways that make Clarke want to forget why this is so wrong in the first place. Echo makes Clarke want to be happy again.

So, she kisses Echo back, sighing into her mouth with a relief Clarke didn’t know she still had it in her to _feel. _

Kissing Echo feels like shelter after the storm, like coming home, like--

Echo’s mouth leaves hers, inciting a desperate whine that Clarke isn’t at all ashamed.

That is until, “_Bellamy_,” Echo greets, warmly.

And sure enough, Bellamy Blake is standing in the middle of the living room, the front door wide open, marveling at the sight before him and the first word that leaves his mouth is--

“Fuck.”

Clarke immediately jumps off the couch, putting as much distance between both Echo and Bellamy as physically possible given the location, calculating the odds of whether or not she could bolt out the door without him chasing after her.

“No,” Bellamy says, answering a question she hadn’t asked, promptly slamming the door behind him. He takes a step closer. “Clarke--”

“I’m sorry!” she blurts, flailing her arms frantically. “I didn’t--I mean, she just--” her mouth opens and closes, and then to Clarke’s utter horror, her vision blurs with unshed tears. “I didn’t even _want _to come here. I swear, Bellamy, I had no intention--”

She’s cut off when strong arms wrap around her. Clarke welcomes the feeling of safety they bring without putting up a fight, burying her face into his chest. He squeezes tighter, whispering soft words of comfort, _as if she even deserves it._

“You didn’t tell her?” Bellamy demands then, much to Clarke’s confusion.

“You asked me to wait for you,” Echo says, calmly.

“Yes, well give the fact that I come home to you making out with her on the couch, I thought you changed your mind about listening to me. Not like it’d be the first time,” he says, grumbling the last bit.

“What are you guys talking about,” Clarke asks, reluctantly pulling back from Bellamy without meeting his eyes.

“Hey, none of that,” he admonishes, tilting her chin up to him. “Clarke, you--” He hesitates, tugging her arm up until it’s parallel to the floorboards.

He looks at her, then down to the skin of her inner bicep.

Clarke’s heart is beating so loud, she _feels _it thumping in her ears.

Bellamy reaches up to trace her golden tattoo, the shimmering crown, and sunflowers, knowing _exactly _where to touch.

“Princess,” he says, admiration flooding the baritone of his voice, his eyes--hell, even his _movements. _

Clarkes doesn’t think she’s ever been held so gently.

“You’re _ours_,” he says; and without question, she believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me occasionally spewing fandom garbage on [tumblr](http://rycewritestrash.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/rycewritestrash).
> 
> I advocate for a secular worldview and talk politics moreso on my [main tiktok account](http://www.tiktok.com/@brinaryce), as well as [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC4ED5Wt-5ktDlZmnqysv9jA?view_as=subscriber) and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/rycewritestrash/).
> 
> I am currently working on a couple of different original novel(las) and I have a published an original short story (wlw) [here (18+ ONLY)](https://www.bellesa.co/story/564/first-impressions). After a long break, I am back to working with Bellesa to publish some other adult LGBTQIA+ content on their site.
> 
> You can support me on [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/rttvidz) feeding my caffeine addiction.
> 
> STAY KIND, STAY SAFE, WEAR A DAMN MASK & TO MY FELLOW AMERICANS . . . VOTE EARLY.


End file.
